Daddy's Callin' You Home
by XantheXV
Summary: San Francisco, 1933. A young woman finds an elderly Tonto on the streets begging for whatever spare change he can get. Feeling sorry for him, she brings him into the nearest diner to warm up and get some food. The old Indian tells her a tale of cowboys, Indians, rogue army men, and revengeful gang members...and of a love long lost. Tonto/OC Rated T. Rating may go up!


Author's Note: So...I know I have other stories I'm supposed to be working on, and I know I said my next update was either going to be about a certain inspector or vampire...but this idea has been stuck in my head since watching the new Lone Ranger movie. Which was the 4th of July...yeah...I've been putting this one off, too. You try working for an optometrist and then coming home to try and write. See what happens...

Sorry, that last bit was uncalled for. I'm so drained from this job it's not even funny...

Anywho...this is a Tonto/OC fic, so if that interests you, then continue on :) If you have a problem with it...then you may leave and you don't have to return...unless you want to come back, but I won't force you to ;) I'm nice like that. I'm warning you now, there will probably be elements of the original Lone Ranger appearing in my story, so if you feel that you are confused by anything that appears in this fanfiction, then feel free to consult this magical media website that the world likes to call YouTube. You can watch the episodes there.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The Lone Ranger, old or new. It belongs to the directors, writers, and producers of the 1940's TV show and the amazing Gore Verbinski and Jerry Bruckheimer of the 2013 version :)

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**Prologue**

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_~San Francisco, Winter 1933~_

"Jesus, it's cold!" I exclaimed to no one in particular.

I stepped outside of my apartment building when the breeze hit me, the cold air whipping my coat and skirt around. I pulled my coat closer and buttoned it up, something I should have done in the first place. The action didn't do much, but it helped.

I carefully climbed down the stairs leading up to my building and onto the sidewalk, careful of any patches of ice. I looked around carefully and then began walking north towards Elsie's Diner. I was passed the third apartment building when it happened. I slipped on a small patch of ice, regardless of my being careful, and landed on my derriere, my dark, brown curls dancing around and covering my face. , thankfully hiding the blush from my embarrassment.

_Damn heels! _I thought. _I hope no one saw that._

I quickly and carefully got up of the ground and brushed the dirt from my clothes. I had an audition and wanted to look my absolute best.

I walked down the street a couple of blocks to get to the trolley stop next to Elsie's in order to catch the 10:45 trolley to northern San Francisco, where the auditions for _Oklahoma! _were being held. I walked past the diner and sat on the bench, waiting patiently for the trolley to arrive. I looked at my watch. It read 10:23.

_Seventeen more minutes,_ I thought. _Seventeen more minutes and then I'll be one step closer to Broadway!_

I heard coughing and jingling from behind me and, curiosity getting the better of me, couldn't help but turn to see where it had come from. What I saw nearly brought tears to my eyes.

An elderly lone Indian, in his native garb, sitting on the sidewalk against the diner, holding out a can and begging for some spare change.

_The poor man!_

The man looked helpless and was shivering. His frail look included long, dark grey hair, a faded green bandana, and…was that a dead bird on his head?

I looked around at the several people walking by, not even sparing a passing glance at the old Indian. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

_He's not even wearing a shirt for Christ's sakes!_

Not even caring of what others might think, I got up from the bench and walked over to him. He seemed to have sensed my presence, because he held up the can towards me without looking up.

"Anything to spare?" he asked in raspy broken English.

My hand immediately went to my purse, and I looked through it, looking for any extra bills that I could spare or any coins. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him look up. I looked away from my purse and towards him, making eye contact. His dark, chocolate eyes seemed to light up with hope, widening slightly as if he had seen a ghost.

"_Im lizcba mnoga Christine?_" he asked in a language I couldn't understand.

I furrowed a brow in confusion. "Excuse me?"

He shook his head, and then brought something to the bird on his head. He released what he was holding, which looked like it was grain. I saw him shiver, and went to take my coat off. He seemed to notice, and stopped me from doing so.

"No, no," he said. "Too cold."

I shook my head at him. "I'll be fine. You barely have anything on. Let me help you."

The old Indian looked at me as if he were at a loss for words. I couldn't really blame him if he was. No one else was helping him.

With a simple nod, I helped him up of the ground and then led him into Elsie's Diner. Two sighs of relief broke out into the silence of the diner, one belonging to the Indian, and the other belonging to me. The warmth of the inside flooded my senses, and I couldn't have been more grateful.

I led the elderly Indian over to a table and called to Ruthie, the head waitress, to bring us two cups of hot chocolate.

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

_Stupid! _I reprimanded myself. _Of course he's hungry!_

He nodded his head so hard that I thought that the crow on his head would fall onto the table. The thought made me feel a bit queasy.

I took off my coat and wrapped around him, and then sat down in front of him. Ruthie brought us our drinks and I ordered him a healthy plate of waffles and sausage. He tried to object, but I was having none of it.

"Can't make trade," he said.

"It's alright," I reassured him with a smile. "You don't have to worry about it."

He smiled right back, and I felt my heart warm in an instant.

"What's your name?" I asked him.

"Name?"

"Yeah. I want to know your name."

He seemed to get nervous for a moment. He looked up at his bird and then towards me, and then back at the bird again. Albeit a bit hesitantly, he replied, "Tonto."

"Tonto?" The name struck me as being familiar, but I couldn't remember where I had heard it.

"Of the Comanche."

I nodded. "What were you doing out on the streets? Don't you have a home?"

"I can return to tribe," he said.

"Oh really?" I asked. "Are you just trying to get money so that you can get back? To your tribe, I mean?"

He shook his head. "Can return to tribe, but they are no more." At that realization, he became saddened.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Mister Tonto."

There was a short silence, which was broken when Ruthie brought Mr. Tonto his food. He looked at it with hungry eyes and began to grab a fork and knife. He was about to dig in when he stopped and then looked at me, as if asking for permission. I urged him to go ahead.

"You don't need my permission," I reassured him as he began to cut into the waffles. "You must be starving."

He nodded furiously, and once again, I thought the bird was going to fall into his food.

Ruthie came by the table again, carrying a cup of coffee and sat it in front of me. I looked at the cup and then at her. "I didn't order this," I told her.

"I know, honey," she replied. "The coffee has already been paid for by compliments of the gentleman over at the bar seat over there."

I followed her finger and saw a lone man sitting at one of the bar seats, just like Ruthie had said. He turned to me and raised his cup as if in toast to me. I nodded my thanks and gave him a small smile. Something about him didn't seem right.

I turned to my coffee and was about to take a drink when Mr. Tonto slapped it out of my hand with a strength I didn't know he had.

_Never judge a book by its cover,_ I could hear my mother reprimanding.

"Mr. Tonto!" I exclaimed. "What on earth was that for?"

In what I believed to be a very severe tone, the elderly Indian warned, "Never drink what stranger gives you."

I nodded as he went back to his food. Taking a deep breath, I said, "Of course, but why?"

Mr. Tonto got a faraway look at my question, as if remembering something important, something he shouldn't have forgotten. "Poisoned," he muttered.

I was confused. "You mean it was drugged?"

"Could be."

"I'm confused, Mr. Tonto. What do you mean by poisoned?"

"She…was almost poisoned," he answered with a pained expression on his face, as if the memory hurt him too much.

"Who?" I asked.

He looked at me, his dark eyes roaming my face. I noticed a corner of his mouth turn up slightly in a small smirk.

"Christine."

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A/N: That's it for this chapter. I do hope you enjoyed it!

So...loved it? Hated it? Not sure about it? Let me know by dropping me a couple of lines and then pressing that magical button that reads, "Review". For I do love reviews so...they give me warm fuzzies and make my day. That, and they're my only payment.

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~Xanthe :3


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